


The Nerve II

by orphan_account



Series: The Nerve [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band), Panic! at the Disco, The Brobecks
Genre: Bottom! Brendon, Crimes & Criminals, Drug Dealing, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mental Illness, Obssesive, Organized Crime, Sexual Content, Smut, Therapy, Top! Dallon, delusional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 04:16:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13333311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Brendon's obsessive behaviour and far from lack of nerve causes his discovery of Dallon's new criminal plan. Sequel to the original fic, "The Nerve." Dallon's point of view.





	The Nerve II

**The Apartment**

I toss and turn for a while, only half-awake, subconsciously trying to force myself to sleep longer. My body soon enough decides to give up. I check the digital clock beside me. It’s 9am. Nine hours: that’ll do. I sit up and stretch my long body on the edge of the bed. When I’m finished waking myself up, I continue to the en suite bathroom we have and pick up my toothbrush, still feeling slightly groggy. I spread the toothpaste on and start brushing.

 

Brendon was talking in his sleep last night, but only mumbling nonsense. He didn’t wake me, though - I woke myself up with a dream. I don’t really understand why when most people have a dream involving something “morally incorrect” or something not very “positive”, they suddenly label it a nightmare. A nightmare to me would be losing my money, paying taxes, losing Brendon, not something that isn’t even real that my brain creates to entertain me in my sleep.

 

I spit into the sink and splash my face with some water, whilst I’m at it, just to feel a little more refreshed. It’s safe to say it worked a charm.

 

I grin as I walk through to the living room, finding Brendon sat in his boxers with a bowl of cereal, by the TV, watching Rick & Morty. “Why do you always watch shit like this in the morning?” I ask curiously. We’ve been living together for around six months now and every time I’ve been around early enough to catch him eating cereal, he watches something along the lines of Big Mouth or South Park.

 

“Cartoons are low key; they ease the brain at these early times in the day.” He turns around to look at me, smiles and shrugs.

 

I’ve watched some of the shows with him multiple times now and I beg to differ. “Rick & Morty is _not_ low key.” I raise my eyebrows. “Rick  & Morty is existential as fuck.”

 

In reply, he shrugs again and turns back around to the screen. I decide that I’m in the mood for breakfast today, so I walk over to the cupboards and open the cereal one. Inside, I’m greeted by Brendon’s sugary shit (froot loops, lucky charms and pop tarts). I rummage about to find some cereal of my own and find an opened box of bran flakes. To my delight, it’s just the crumby shit all from the bottom of the bag that remains. I shove it back in the cupboard.

 

“I’d appreciate it if you put that in the bin, seeing as there’s nothing left in it, rather than you clutter up the cupboards and use up space.” His voice makes me jump.

 

“ _Fuck_ , don’t sneak up on me like that!” I look up at the idiot stood beside me that I had no clue was watching me. “You’re such a _creep_ sometimes,” I inform him.

 

“You still love me.” I ignore him. “Hey,” he whines and cocks his hip to the side, placing a sassy hand there. He’s a fucking idiot, but he’s irresistible.

 

I turn to face him and he stands up straight, just ready to be kissed. I lean in and hold the back of his head, dominating as usual. I push back the hair that always falls so pretty on his forehead and our lips join, moving with each other’s.

 

I pull away and say “I love you.”

 

“Are you going to the studio today?” He looks down at the floor.

 

“Yeah,” I tell him, “I have a few songs I need time to sit and think on alone.” He gets quite… odd… about me going to the studio sometimes. I hope he doesn’t one day summon the courage to show up completely unexpected.

 

“Can we have a round before you leave?” He eyes my bare chest, lifts an eyebrow and shifts his gaze up to my eyes.

 

“Say no more.” I smirk and pull him into our bedroom.

 

He lays down on the bed and I tower over him. I place my hand on his chest and kiss him, tugging at his lips. “Your heart’s beating so fast,” I say.

 

“I know,” he whispers breathlessly.

 

I pull off his boxers and drop them beside me on the floor and do the same with my own. Conveniently, the bedside table is right beside us and filled with three bottles of lube and plenty of condoms. I pull out the draw and pick up a bottle of lube, squeezing it onto my fingers while Brendon lays on his back, impatiently stroking his erection and gently rocking back and forth. If there’s one thing that I’ve known about Brendon since the first day we met, it’s that he doesn’t like waiting for sex.

 

As soon as I put the lube back into the draw, he spreads his legs for me and I press my finger up against his hole. He pushes into it, so I begin working it inside of him. I add another finger in and he moans. I don’t even wait to work in another two straight away after that reaction. He only slightly tenses at the new additions. He’s getting really good at taking it for me.

 

I keep moving my four digits inside of him until he tells me “I’m ready.” I pull them out and wipe the remaining moisture on my fingers from the lube over my dick and get out a condom packet. I rip it open and rubber up my dick.

 

His legs are still spread open at the perfect span, allowing me both enough space to fit between them, and a delightful view. Without further ado, I push my dick inside of him slowly and he scrunches his eyes shut, lifting his hips off the mattress.

 

I pull back and forwards with no pace for a few thrusts, teasingly slow, but Brendon seems to be enjoying it. “You like that baby?” I ask him.

 

“Mmm,” he replies.

 

“Want me to go faster?” I lean down and kiss him.

 

Once I stop occupying his mouth he bites his lip and sinfully whispers “yeah,” and closes his eyes.

 

I thrust faster and faster and lean my body weight back up. Instead of supporting myself on the mattress, I hold onto the lower part of his knees. His legs are still raised. I can’t wait for the moment it all just gets too much for him and the pressure makes him give way and the pleasure screams on his face and his legs go weak and drop.

 

I keep thrusting and feel myself hit his prostate. In reply, I get an “ _ohhh_ , oh _god_.” I ignore his prostate for another three thrusts and hit it again. I hit it again, and again, and again, continuously and he’s now gasping. “Dall, I’m gonna,” he tries to say, “I’m, I’m gonna,” he can’t get the words out and it’s so hot, “I’m gonna come,” he whines and screws his eyes shut forcefully.

 

“Come then,” I tell him and he doesn’t hesitate.

 

“Oh god, oh lord, fucking christ, jesus fuck,” he cries as his knees drop, along with my hands held tight on them. His sinful mouth tips me over the edge. Come starts leaking out of my cock and fills the condom. We ride out or orgasms together.

 

When I’m spent, I let myself fall onto the bed beside him and pull off the condom.

 

“That was amazing.” He turns to me on his side, chest rising and falling. I nod in agreement and let our lips meet again.

 

**The Studio**

The bass guitar sat in the corner does, in fact, look tempting, but that’s not what I’m here for. If I want this plan to work and to not get my ass busted, then I need to put 100% into it. It needs to be my top priority. There’s no room for distractions.

 

I pull out the sheet music folder and open the clasp. Every three sheets is one sheet that’s part of the plan hidden amongst the musical notation nonsense. I’ve always been able to play music, but never read it.

 

Oh shit. I didn’t lock the door. I snap the folder shut and turn with the wheels on the chair to face whoever it is that’s coming in. My mouth gapes involuntarily. It’s Brendon.

 

He looks me in the eye with more strength and nerve than he’s ever had before and I close my mouth and purse my lips.

 

As I turn to place back the folder, I ask him slowly and cautiously, “Brendon, what are you doing here?”

 

“Dallon, I know what you’re doing,” he states. He might not know what I’m doing, though.  He might be clueless, so there’s no point in me getting worried just yet. Worrying is a weakness; therefore, he’ll have more strength over me.

 

“What’s that, honey,” I smile warmly. I don’t call him honey, angel, sweetie or any of that bullshit. He calls me babe, but that’s okay because it suits him and sounds natural. I’m using the word as sickly-sweet sarcasm.

 

Indifferent to the pet name I just gave him, he storms over in my direction. He picks up the folder and I lower my voice, “Brendon, I don’t know _what_ you think you’re doing, but you’re really not being clever.” He flicks through the pages and after nine pages he raises his eyebrows as though his suspicions have been confirmed.

 

He lifts his head to look me back in the eye and exclaims “Oh, because this is such a clever idea!”

 

“I think I’ve done a pretty neat job, so far. Very detailed, thoughtful planning that’ll assure me to acquire a luscious stack of bills. I value the opinion of my boyfriend rather much, so tell me Brendon, you think it’s pretty cool right? In that crazy little mind of yours, there’s probably kids running around screaming _this is exhilarating_ , you’re probably turned on. I would be. We can fuck now if you want, what happens in the studio stays in the studio. It’s not like I have another obsessive boyfriend that’s about to burst right through the door and interrogate me without a warning or an invitation.”

 

“But, _Dall_ ,” he sounds broken, “this is _heroine_.”

 

“Yeah, no shit,” I say insensitively. He could be putting up a complete façade up of heartbreak when all he’s trying to do is get in my pants or persuade me not to do it so he can live his normal life. Anything other than crime and drugs sounds rather boring to _me_.

 

“Dallon.” He stiffens and takes a deep breath. He genuinely looks calmer now. He looks as though he never even lost his composure in the first place.

 

“Yes, sweetheart,” I use my words as though my tongue is a knife.

 

Once again, he’s left unwounded. “Dallon, I want you to know that I’ve booked you in for therapy tomorrow and you’re going.” He must have planned this whole thing out – something he's obviously learned from me. Good boy.

 

From what I’ve heard somewhere (I have no clue where), a therapist takes a while to even be able to contact and schedule an appointment with.  I now understand why he always acted strange when I told him that I was going to the studio. He used to stalk me and that’s how he found out about my first crime. That good old hand cream scandal from half a year ago. Looking back, that was quite cute. Bless myself.

 

“I love you unconditionally, Dallon, but-“

 

“No _but_ s,” I cut him off before he can even _begin_ that stupid, incorrect sentence, “the word ‘but’ is conditional – it shows an exception.”

 

“Let me rephrase. I love you unconditionally, therefore I’m telling you: you need to go to therapy.”

 

“Sure,” I suppress a mischievous grin. I can handle a little therapy.

 

**Therapist’s Office**

Fuck, he’s funny.

 

This _stupid_ , stupid therapist is treading on eggshells around me, tiptoeing around words, trying to choose the right ones. His hesitation is proof that he doesn’t know shit.

 

“Dallon. Mr. Weekes,” he corrects himself, “have you ever physically harmed yourself or others?”

 

I ignore him and laugh to the ceiling.

 

“Have you ever taken drugs?”

 

I stay in the exact same position of leaning back in the sofa and looking to the side of him, grinning, not bothering to even meet his gaze.

 

“Dallon, you are failing to sufficiently answer my questions, meaning you are a cause for concern. If you do not speak to me and provide answers, I’ll be having you sent to the local psychiatric hospital to be evaluated. You are inappropriately laughing at questions about you being a danger to others.”

 

I snap my head to look him in the eye and narrow my own pair, “You wouldn’t dare.”

 

He pulls out his phone and I tut in disbelief. Yeah fucking right.

 

“Hello, I have a patient here that I would like you to please pick up. He seems to be mentally unstable and I would like for him to be evaluated.” _Bullshit_. “To the institute, yes.” He puts the phone down and slides it into his pocket. He’s eyeing me cautiously, as if I would be foolish enough to do a runner. Whatever happens, I’m sure to get out of it. When they ask me the questions, I’ll be a charming gentleman; they won’t have to think twice before letting me leave with no further questions.

 

**The Mental Hospital**

“Dallon Weekes is the name, yes?” The nurse asks looking down at her paper, sat in the chair opposite me.

 

“Yes,” I reply.  


“Okay, Dallon. I’m going to ask you a series of questions and it’s a legal requirement for you to answer them and answer them _honestly_. It won't only help us out; it'll make things so much easier for you too.”

 

“Sure,” I tilt my head and smile at her in a way that I intend to look as polite. I might look a little creepy, though, considering I'm currently being evaluated on my mental stability.

 

“We’re starting off quite far in the deep end, just to warn you,” she looks up and eyes me slightly.

 

I nod for her to continue.

 

“First question, have you ever intentionally harmed yourself.” I take it these questions are going to be exactly the same as the ones asked by the therapist. I think I’ll be taking these questions a little more serious now.

 

“Not in the past four years,” I swallow and try to keep my cool façade up that I usually have down to a T.

 

“But you have in the past, is that correct?”

 

“Yes. Just, you know, I was a bit of a punk teenager. Just… because of teen angst, you know?” I don’t know what happened to playing it cool, but it’s too late now. I quickly add, "It was, uh, you know? The hip thing. It was popular in my school."

 

“Have you ever intentionally harmed another person?”

 

“No.” I watch her write something on her sheet.

 

“Have you had suicidal thoughts in the last six months?”

 

“No.” I certainly haven’t; I met Brendon six months ago and he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s shielded me from the most boredom anyone has ever managed to. Clearly not enough, else I wouldn’t be planning a heroine shipment, consequently now sat being evaluated to be placed in a mental asylum.

 

“Have you ever committed a crime?”

 

I gulp – thankfully it was inaudible. I shuffle and sit on my hands. “No.”

 

“Have you taken or dealt with drugs?”

 

“Yes,” I say slowly and look at her. I don’t take them, I deal them and she doesn’t have to know that. Besides, loads of people do drugs. It's nothing unordinary or outrageous.

 

“When you were younger, did you ever experience something traumatic? That could range from abuse, an accident, or being around violence.”

 

I laugh, “Well, daddy hit mommy and I sometimes, but that’s nothing nobody else ain’t experienced.” There’s no way that I can be expected to hold back my personality for any longer than ten minutes.

 

“Mr. Weekes, I’m afraid I can’t let you go,” she sighs and look up at me.

 

I furrow my brows. “Why?” I thought I gave her what she wanted – “sufficient answers.” I didn’t even laugh apart from that last question, but it was good natured!

 

“We don’t just assess words, we assess body language. This is a highly rated mental institution and we have great care here to help people get back on track with their lives. We have plenty of therapists and support groups and if you’re unhappy with who you’re sharing a room with, you can speak to your therapist and move within 24 hours. It was lovely to meet you Dallon, you do really seem like a charming young man with potential and it would be a shame to see you waste it. I suggest you use this course to your advantage and get better.”

 

She hands me the blue uniform and in return I give her my dignity.

 

**Dallon’s New Room**

I’m actually here. I’m being held hostage by people. They have no right to keep me here. I would protest, but that’s not going to get me anywhere - if anything, it’ll give them a reason to have even more power over me. I’ve just got to get the fuck through this and get the fuck out of here as soon as I can.

 

I don’t have a roommate, thank fuck. However, I was told by a nurse not to expect the lack of company to last too long. Apparently, there are more newcomers than I would expect. I’m honestly not surprised, judging on how easily they threw me in here. I barely did shit and here I am.

 

I glance over to the clock, it’s quarter to 5 in the afternoon. I need to leave for my first therapy appointment now.

 

Down the halls, I thought I’d witness maybe some screaming, fighting, or some sort of violent display of emotions, but it’s honestly quite calm. I haven’t socialised with anybody so far, therefore my opinion is based off of very little. Tonight at 6 will be my first bet at speaking to other patients and rest assured, I’ll only speak when spoken to. I don’t need to be making any psycho, foolish friends; I’ve got my boy, Brendon, and that’s enough for me. Shit, I miss Brendon and it’s only been a couple of hours. It’s the thought of him that I miss – the thought that I’ll have a beautiful boy to wake up beside and fuck and laugh with and smile with and be with. I’m not going to be with this god damn beautiful man for so long. There’s no way they’re going to let me out in just a day. I have a feeling I’m going to be here for a few weeks.

 

In front of me is a door with a number 34 plaque on it. That’s the number for today’s therapist’s door. I knock twice, since the door is closed and hear a man tell me I can come in. I crank the handle and push it open, revealing… the one and only Mr. Wentz.

 

**The Therapist’s Office**

 

“Pete?” I widen my eyes.

 

“Dallon?” He mirrors me. “Dall, what are you doing here, you idiot? Hey, come sit down!” He laughs, adjusts himself in his seat and leans his forearms on the desk in front of him.

 

“Mr. Wentz, my former older high school friend and bass teacher. How are you doing, man?” I grin in disbelief.

 

“Great! Turns out I wasn’t going to get anywhere with my shocking skills at bass playing, but you already knew that seeing as you were better at me at that old guitar anyway and you came to me to get even better. Yeah, anyways, I decided being a therapist was definitely my strength. I went to university, studied psychology… you know how it works. So, what brings you here, dude? I always knew you were a little out of your wits, but you’re great fun!”

 

“God, Pete, where do I begin?” I fall back in my chair and roll my eyes.

 

He relaxes a little more into his seat which makes me feel a little more comfortable to talk. “Begin where you want. We’ve got an hour.” He smirks.

 

“Well, you were right in thinking I was gay, that’s for sure.” Brendon’s the best way to start any conversation. He was the biggest turning point for me so far and he’s the one thing I’ve had a lot of clarity on.

 

“You got a man?”

 

“Yeah, his name is Brendon.”

 

He furrows his brows. “I think I knew a dude called Brendon who I’d smoke weed with. Is he the same one from our high school?”

 

“Yeah!” I enthuse.

 

“Sweet! He’s pretty attractive. Definitely a bottom.”

 

“Yep,” I nod, “definitely.”

 

“How did you meet?” That’s a funny one.

 

“Long story short, I planned a road trip to do some shady shit and he stalked me. I fucked him to keep him hushed and also because I couldn’t deny a lay with someone so hot and willing. He showed up at the next spot again and again and God damn, I fell in love with him.”

 

“So, you’ve got a man and you seem rather content. Why are you here?”

 

“I hired out a studio to plan a drug shipment behind his back. The drug was of such a high class that he’d never let me get away with it. He had his suspicions and I should have known he’d find out, to be honest, because he did practically stalk me in the first place.”

 

“Sounds like a tragic love story to me. I should write a song about you two and maybe I will make it in the music industry. Anyway, continue.”

 

“Maybe you should,” I laugh. “As I was saying, he had his suspicions, so he came to the studio, told me I had to meet with this therapist dude the next day – total prick by the way. I went to the therapist, as he asked and I sat there laughing at him taking it all light-heartedly. It got to a point where he was asking a load of bullshit questions and I didn’t answer them. He called up the police and asked them to take me here to be evaluated and clearly, I passed for their criteria. I don’t know man, it’s a pretty pathetic story.”

 

“Shit! That’s crazy. No, the nurses here that evaluate people are pretty tough and let in people who are literally just depressed. Of course, we have had sufferers of more severe cases, such as uncontrollable self harm, obsessive behaviour – like your Brendon fella, crippling anxiety, schizophrenia, suicidal thoughts, but there are people like you coming and going a lot more than you’d expect.”

 

“Okay, that makes me feel a little more at ease.” I shrug my shoulders.

 

“Yeah, well it was great catching up with you! I have a few things I need to run through with you before you leave,” he says, now clicking onto his computer that I didn’t even notice was there, we were so wrapped up in conversation. “Every other day, you’ll be seeing me at 5 for an hour and on the other days, you’ll be seeing Dr Stump – Patrick. Now, I promise you that he is the absolute shit. Him and I are close friends and he’s actually been there for me a lot when I’ve been struggling mentally. He’s a ray of fucking sunshine, but it’s definitely bearable.”

 

“Wow, that’s great. I guess I needn’t be too worried about this place.” I raise my eyebrows.

 

“It is a really good place here and we do see great progress. I recommend keeping to yourself, though, Dall. There can be the odd psycho,” he warns me.

 

“Nothing I can’t handle.” I smirk.

 

He laughs, “Of course. Now, I’m unsure of what you’ve already been informed of, but as soon as our session’s over, you have to go to the canteen to get your dinner. It stays open for an hour and a half so you don’t need to worry too much about getting there on time. You also are obliged to attend at least two support groups. You can choose between the ones on this list.” He walks over to the printer and takes out a sheet that was pre-printed. He hands it over to me.

 

The sheet reads a simple list:

 

Depression and anxiety

Substance abuse and addiction

Schizophrenia and psychosis

Bipolar and borderline personality

Grieving

Obsessive & Compulsive behaviour

 

I don’t think I fall under any of those categories. It looks to me as though I’ll be sitting through quite a lot of bullshit for a while.

 

“Pete, I really don’t think I need to be here,” I sigh.

 

“Hey, don’t get me wrong, but you’ve got to be here for something, even if it is minor. Patrick is more of an emotionally intelligent therapist, so he’ll be the one helping you get down to what it is that’s getting at you. Everyone has some sort of issues, so maybe you should just take this time as a useful opportunity to sort that shit.”

 

I sigh again. “Well, I guess I’ll just go to the schizo one and the OCD one.” Maybe I’ll learn something about Brendon’s disorder. No, he hasn’t admitted to having it, but he definitely does and I’m sure he knows somewhere deep down.

 

“You can change your mind if you ever feel like you need to. All you have to do is ask me or Patrick and we’ll sort it,” he reassures me.

 

“Okay, so I take it that’s everything?”

 

“Yeah. The canteen opens in a couple of minutes, so you can head down there if you want.” I get out of my chair. “Oh, and hey, Dall. Whatever shit you tell me, my mouth is zipped. Between you and I, I think it’ll be a bit more like bro to bro advice.”

 

“Thanks, Pete.”

 

I exit the door and head for the canteen.

 

**Dallon’s Room**

 

I sit up against the wall on my single bed and bring my knees to my chest. The food was far from gourmet, but it’s free, so I can’t complain. I hear a knock on the door and pull my knees down. Before I can stand up, the door begins to open.

 

This is a dream I can’t wake up from. This has to be some sort of sleep paralysis. This boy followed me to an _asylum_.

 

“Brendon? This is some sort of joke, isn’t it?” I gape at the boy in the same blue uniform as me.

 

“No,” he begins quietly and brings the door to a soft, slow close.

 

“Brendon, this is insane. You’re insane. What are you doing here?” I realise the irony in my words after they fall out of my mouth.

 

“Will you quit calling me insane, already?” He sits down on the bed opposite me.

 

“Do you not understand, you admitted yourself to a mental asylum.” I stare at him with an empty gaze.

 

“It’s a mental hospital, not an asylum. Gathering from your words and actions, your perception of the world appears to me as though you’re wearing sunglasses wherever you step,” Mr. Ray of Fucking Sunshine chimes at me.

 

We sit in silence. I stare at him.

 

“I confess, I’ve got some issues. I don’t know why, but I do and I’m going to get better – believe me. I think you should, too.”

 

“Why are you so dead set on me being mentally ill?” He slumps his shoulders and pouts at the floor.

 

“You admitted yourself here to be with me.” Let that sink in, you _idiot_!

 

“Exactly, to be with you.” By that, I think he’s implying that he doesn’t have a mental problem, he just wants to be with me. That’s naïve in itself. He’s definitely ill.

 

“So, what support groups have you signed up for?” I tilt my head slightly and raise my eyebrows.

 

“Um…” he looks down at the ground again, but I know he’s going red. “Obsessive compulsive and anxiety.”

 

“Hey, you know what? Good for you,” I tell him genuinely.

 

He looks up in surprise. “Really?” he asks.

 

“Yeah, I think it’ll help you,” I confirm my support.

 

“Thanks,” he blushes, but doesn’t look down this time. Instead he looks at me and allows me to see all the reasons I have to be in love with him. “What groups are you going to?” He asks me, now.

 

“OCD and some schizo one. I actually picked the OCD one for you, thinking maybe I’d pick a thing or two up to help you.” Instead of denying it he nods. I continue, “I picked the schizo one because I thought it’d be funny as fuck.”

 

“Hey, that’s a real disorder you’re talking about there! That’s not exactly kind or respectful.”

 

“You’re cute.” I sit beside him on his bed and kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I shall be writing up a third and final part to this series as soon as this is published; it should be out within a few weeks. For the time being, here is part two! I hope you enjoyed. Comments and kudos are most obviously appreciated, seeing as I've put loadsss of effort into this. I love you all.
> 
> \- Nicole xx


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